The Essence of Loneliness
by Amala Eve
Summary: *ON HIATUS* Ever feel that you are the only one in the world that is not clued into what is going on around you. It is pretty lonely when even your own family is leaving you out of the loop. AU
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I did not write or own any rights to the Twilight books cause if I did I would have realized that making a werewolf imprint on the very thing that he was born to destroy is not exactly right in any way.

AN: Hello all amazing fanfic readers and writers! I am a long time reader of the fanfiction site but this is my first time actually publishing a story. I do not have a beta so sorry if this first chapter is kind of rough. It would be great if people put some feedback on how I can improve my own writing. I hope you enjoy the first chapter and if you have any questions feel free to ask and I will answer. That is all for now! --SacredWritings

**Prologue**

Pain, guilt, emptiness. The feelings were on a continuous loop. Like a new song that a radio station plays until it goes out of style. Until that very new song is no longer cool but irritating and for some reason no matter what I do I can't stop humming it. That is what my feelings were like. I don't know if I can feel anything else; I don't know if I am even capable of feeling anything else.

Pain. It is unbearable. It is not like the pain when one skids their knees on the gravel or when you break your arm cliff diving. This pain is emotional and I would trade anything in the world to not feel this way. Hell I would settle being in the hospital with a full body cast then feel this. I thought it was tough when I caught Sam with Emily, not even a week after he broke it off with me. Broke it off with no reason. I thought that I could never feel as bad as I did that day. I was wrong.

Guilt. It consumes me for how I left things with _him_. I was mad, beyond mad. I should not have said what I did but I did say it and now I can never take any of it back because _he_ is no longer here. You know what is really messed up is that I can not remember exactly what I said to _him_. All I remember is _his_ eyes that were pained and clouding over with tears before I turned my back on him and walked out the door. That look has haunted me for the past two nights. I can hardly sleep anymore knowing that when I close my eyes I will see the reason why I yelled at him and wake up with those eyes as the last thing I remember.

Emptiness. With the pain and the guilt one would think that it is hard to feel emptiness. Those people are wrong. The emptiness has nothing to do with feelings but about being left out of something important. Something that is bigger than me. Looking around I see only close friends and family, even people that I feel should not be here. I have listened to their conversations and I have watched how careful they are with their words when I am around. Even my own mother is in on it for the fact that when I asked where Seth, my own brother, was she looked at the people around us as if asking for permission to tell me. No one seems to give her the okay and she says that he just needs time to himself. I want to call her on her bullshit but I can not bring myself to upset her more.

So here I am sitting uncomfortably in a dress in a plastic chair that has made my ass go numb. The sun peaks in and out of the clouds passing by. The air is chilly but I don't really feel it. I hear the sniffles around me. The weight of my mother's head is on my shoulder as she cries leaving a large wet spot on the fabric that cools my skin. Everyone (except my brother, who is not here) around me has somber looks and are wiping their eyes with tissues, sleeves, hands, handkerchiefs and the like. Me, I can't cry. I can not bring myself to cry. I should be crying; I loved _him_. It would be acceptable if I did. After all this is a mourning period but I can't. I have to be strong for my mother, for my brother (if he ever shows up).

I had to be strong while we made the arrangements. I had to be strong when I made the final decisions on what coffin and headstone to use. I have to be strong as my mom can't seem to be able to get out one syllable let alone a sentence at the end of the ceremony. I have to be strong and thank every single guest for coming. I have to be strong even though the pain, guilt and emptiness are eating me up on the inside. I am the one that has to be strong while I watch _him_ be lowered into the ground. I have to be strong at my father's funeral. Harry Clearwater's daughter will not cry, not here.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

A/N: I would like to thank Babywolfstar, brankel1, hilja, and Tasha2010 for reviewing my story and the people that alerted it. I am new at writing stories like this so it is nice to know that their are people out there that do enjoy what I am creating. Again if anyone has questions feel free to ask. I do answer my reviews and if anyone has tips on how to improve my writing please feel free to share. I am willing to learn. Thank you and enjoy the official Chapter 1.

**Chapter 1**

Gold. Red. That is all I see this morning. Sitting here on this rock, my arms circling my jean covered legs trying to ward off the cold. The mornings in Washington tend to be the coldest part of the day before the sun rises. Which is exactly what I am watching right now. I have always loved watching the sunrise. It calms me; makes me believe that maybe, just maybe things are going to be okay. That maybe when I finally get off this rock and go home, Dad will be up and getting ready for work. That maybe Seth will be running around trying to eat, get dress, and finish the homework that he leaves till the last minute to do. That maybe Mom is kissing Dad on the cheek and telling him to have a good day while also chastising Seth for procrastinating…again. I wish for that so badly but I know that once I leave this rock that I will not come home to that.

Seth will not be home just like he hasn't been since the day of dad's heart attack. My baby brother has been MIA for the past eight days. I have asked around to see if anyone has seen him but I had no luck. I even checked his room before I came out here this morning hoping to see him sleeping in his bed but he was not there…again. Mom says that he is fine and just needs time. I say she is on crack. What mother does not worry about her own kid especially if they have not even stepped one foot in the house for such an extended period of time? Again that feeling of being left out of something so important comes back.

Mom is not the same. She has a sadness around her that I have never seen before. Not even when Grandpa died. I have caught her countless times staring off while cooking, cleaning, reading, even while watching T.V. It is like she is no longer with us but she is with Dad, wherever he is. I try to help out as much as I can when I am not working so that she does not have so much on her plate. I do this even though I know that she is not telling me something, something that has to have a connection with Dad.

Dad will not be there because he died over a week ago. It has been days since the funeral and I still can not cry. I have tried because it is the only thing that will get rid of the pressure building in my chest. The pressure that has not deflated but seems to build with every breath I take. The pressure that does not even leave me alone when I try to sleep, the same pressure that combines with my dreams leaving me to wake up in a cold sweat only a few hours after I shut my eyes.

All of this is running through my mind as I watch, from my perch on a boulder, the golds and reds of the sky as the sun starts to warm my skin. The wind is gentle but forceful causing my hair to slightly swirl around me. I twist the ends of my sweater as I take in the beauty of a new morning. I personally think that this would be the perfect opportunity to start crying. The atmosphere has a romantic yet heartbroken aura to it but I still can not bring myself to let go. No one is around, so the only one to witness my breakdown is me, this boulder, and the sun. All I need is one little tear to slip down my cheek to alleviate some pressure in my chest, but I can't do it.

Sighing after the reds and golds disappear from the sky as the sun ascends higher into the cloudy sky. I finally loosen the grip around my legs. My legs tingle as I stretch them out in front of me for sitting so long. I slip my feet into my sandals which were wedged in the sand. Getting up slowly, I look at the sky again before turning my back on the sun and walking back to the house. Mom does not know that I go out here. That I have gone out here everyday since his death. That the reason I am out here is because I can not bring myself to go back to sleep after I have woken up so abruptly. I don't want her to find out and start asking questions because that will lead to a fight. The fight will be about how I can rely on her and that it is okay to cry on her shoulder and that will lead me into saying things that I have to keep my mouth shut about. Like how the only person that knows about my and Dad's fight is me and Dad. Another thing is about how she can keep me in the dark about what is going on with Seth. I want to believe that all she needs is time to tell me.

The walk is relaxing and the sun feels good on my back. I hear the animals around me start to stir but I do not run into any people. I am grateful for that. Ever since the funeral people have been looking at me with pity in there eyes. Hell even the locals of Forks give me looks and they are strangers. Movement at the corner of my eye has me whip my head around to look at the body of Jacob Black ambling out from the tree-line. I stop walking to admire the sight before my eyes. For some unknown reason a lot of the boys have been going through some crazy growth spurts that have also had an impact on their build. Jacob is one of those boys. His hair is cut short just like the rest of the guys in Sam's 'gang'. I personally don't think that Sam and his buddies are on steroids or dealing drugs because even though Sam is a first class asshole I still know that he would never be capable of doing that. Plus the elders look at him like the sun shines out of his ass.

Watching Jacob with his shoulders slumped like he has been up all night excites my curiosity on what it is that Sam and the boys do. The mystery will definitely keep me occupied but in all honesty I could really care less what they do as long as it does not affect me or my family. Deciding that I have stared long enough I resume my trek to my house hoping that I have not blown too much time. I want to make it back before Mom wakes up. As the house comes into sight my chest constricts. I feel the prickling sensation that accompanies tears but it is the wrong time. Here people can see so I quickly look up and blink them back. I will not give anyone else who happens to look out there windows another thing to pity me for. The wood on the porch creaks under my weight as I climb the stairs. I open the door slowly so as to make as little noise as possible. I make it through the door and walk into the kitchen to Mom staring back at me with pursed lips and her hands curled around a coffee mug.

"Mom!"

"Leah," There is so much sadness, worry, and disappointment in her eyes. This is not good. So much for postponing that fight.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

AN: I know it has been months but even though I love to write but school does come first. I am kind of anxious to get the feedback on this chapter since dialogue is not my strong suit so any tips that anyone has please feel free to share. I want to learn to be a better writer and what better way than to learn from other writers. My ultimate goal is to finish this story before school starts up in the fall. Let's hope I can do it. Enough of me talking. Enjoy the chapter everybody!

**Chapter 2**

It's been awhile since I have seen her like this. Hair in disarray, no makeup and a bath robe covering her nightgown. Not to mention that the look in her eyes is tearing me apart. I feel guilty for putting that look on her face but I needed to get away, even for a little bit. This house is suffocating me.

"You're up early." Her hands clench around the cup followed by a sigh.

"Sit down." I do not want to. I know where this is going to go. It starts with where I was then why I was there which leads to a long drawn out talk about dad and how I am feeling. If we are lucky this will not end in a fight. Oh God let us be lucky.

I shuffle to the chair. Every scenario that can happen is playing out in my head. We can fight (most likely), we can cry (I hope not) or we can have a calm talk that will end with understanding and possibly a hug (about as likely as hell freezing over). The words 'I'm not ready' are on repeat in my head as I sit down across from her.

"Mom…"

"Where were you?" And so it starts. Breathe and answer her truthfully and maybe I can get out of this unscathed.

"At the beach." Good Leah, simple and straight to the point.

"For how long?" So far so good. She seems very calm and really just wants to know where I have been. I have a good feeling about this.

"A few hours."

"A few hours!" Her eyes went from concerned to angry and she slammed her cup down on the table. Good feeling is officially dead. "Leah! It was still dark out a few hours ago! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Whoa…Wait….Let me get this straight. You are mad at _me_ because it is dangerous for your _nineteen_ year old daughter to be out when it's dark but it is okay for your _fifteen_ year old son to be gone for days!" At this point I am standing; the chair that I was previously occupying is pushed back, my hands set firmly on the table and I am yelling at the woman who gave birth to me. Astonishment does not even come close to what I am feeling right now. I am angry and I want her to know how much.

The emotions playing out in her eyes were anger, alarm, concern, guilt and finally settling on guarded. If I was not watching I would have probably missed the change. It was subtle, too subtle. My mother has never been one to control her emotions. She likes letting you know exactly how she feels and how much trouble you are in. It is one of the things that I did not inherit from her. I like keeping people at a distance, to think things through but at the moment that seems to have gone out the window myself. Watching her schooling her features so she does not give anything away leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth because I know she is keeping something from me. I do not like it. Not one bit.

"That is different Leah."

"How?" I should not push but I want to know. I have to know what is going on. She sighs and looks down at her cup. The coffee is probably cold by now but she takes a sip anyway.

"He just needs..."

"Time, you've said that already. What if I needed time? What would you say to that?" She looks away from me and stares at the wall like it holds all the answers in the universe. Especially an answer on how to calm her very irritable daughter. I wait for her but nothing but a sigh escapes. I know she does not have an answer but I wait hoping that she will prove me wrong, that she will not disappoint me. It is hard knowing that you will be disappointed because no matter how much you know that it will happen there is always that little part of you that is hoping that things will be different. That little part of me has finally had enough and is about to let mom know how angry it is.

"I am sick of this. I don't want to feel like an outsider in my own home." I have hurt her. I can tell by looking into her eyes but at this point I am too angry to care. I want her to hurt, to feel just like I do. As she looks down I have just one more thing to say to her, "I don't want to hear any more excuses or lies. So if you can't tell me what is going on then I would rather not talk to you at all."

She whips her head up from examining the table and sucks in a breath, "Leah". Her face is shocked. I can see the wetness in her eyes and I know that her willpower is the only thing keeping the tears at bay. I do not want to stick around for when she loses that control over herself.

"I have to go to work." I utter as I run for the door snatching my keys. I do not look at the house as I back out on the dirt road. I can not be there. I can not look at her. It hurts too much. Glancing at the clock in my car I realize that I am an hour early to work and it will take me five minutes to get there. I do not want to go back and face my mom and I really do not feel like going anywhere else. I guess I can just hang out in the parking lot until the owner comes to unlock the door. My life is utterly pathetic that I would rather sit around in the parking lot for an hour before work than do anything else. I wonder if anyone would like to trade lives because at the moment mine seems to be going down the toilet.

The parking lot is deserted. Well it should be seeing as it is so early but it does give me a chance to think. Before I turn off the ignition I roll down the windows so I can have a steady breeze to keep the car cool from the sun beating down on it. It is uncharacteristically sunny today, especially for a place like Forks where rain and cloud cover are a constant presence. My head rests against the steering wheel as the breeze flows in through the window. It feels nice against my neck and calms me just like the quiet does. I like the quiet it allows me to think.

But all I can think about is that no matter how angry I am I should have never talked to my mom that way. It is how I was raised. How Seth was raised. How all Quileutes were raised. You respect your elders and accept their decisions. But how far can acceptance and respect be tolerated when you feel ostracized from your own family.

The car horn surprised me. I looked up at the pick-up that just pulled into the space next to me. It was Joe Connors, the owner. Glancing at the clock lets me know that forty-five minutes has passed, just sitting here in my car stewing in my own thoughts.

"Leah! Not used to seeing you here before me." Joe is around my dad's age. Well was around his age. He is a nice man with a big heart. His own wife died a couple of years after they married and rumor has it that he was a mess until he bought the building and turned into a thrift store. The work kept him busy and he could help people that do not have much. He never looks at me with pity just understanding which makes it bearable to be around. He bends over to talk to me through the open window of my car with his hands firmly placed in his jeans' pockets. The smile on his face turned down once he got a good look at my face. His eyes held concern.

"Are you okay?" I must have looked puzzled because he points to my face and asks if I have been crying. I shift to look in the rearview mirror and noticed that my eyes are red. My fingers graze my cheek and feel liquid. I was crying and I did not even know. Great.

Lying to him is not an option. I know he will not judge me, that a look of understanding is on his face. "Yeah I was." He lets out a big breath and looks away. When he mentions that maybe I should take the day off and go home I am quick to deny. I can't go back, not yet. I tell him that I will be fine. He doesn't seem so eager to agree but he allows it and I follow him into the store. I just need something to get my mind off of this morning. Anything.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Stephanie Meyer's works.

AN: I just have one thing to say...Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

"Forty-five dollars is what we can give you in cash or we can put it on a store debit card?" The elderly woman looked at me with wide eyes. Wait, my mistake that is the effect of her "Old People" glasses. The ones that takes up half of your face but who cares about style when you are that old. If she did not bag someone by now then chances are slim that she will catch anyone now.

"Well, I don't really know?" She placed her hand on her chin allowing her red polished nails to slightly rest on her lips. On closer inspection I notice the ring on her finger. So she is married or was. I wonder if at that age if your spouse died would you keep the ring? I know my mom still has her's on telling the world she is happily married when in fact she is a widow. Amazing how even now my thoughts turn towards my mother. Concentrate Leah. My job is help this woman; not think about my mom and consequently the fight this morning.

"I don't really want to risk losing the money. I have been so forgetful lately. I would probably lose those card thingies, too. But if I get the card I can give it to Keegan, my grandson. His birthday is coming up, you know." She gave what I am assuming is meant to be a long suffering sigh. Do not get me wrong it did start out that way but really just ended in a coughing fit to clear some phlegm. I am thinking grandma is a smoker. As she looks at me with those magnified eyes I just nod like I completely understand her plight. Honestly, I do not have the patience to deal with an indecisive old woman right now.

As she is still pondering her decision, I _helpfully _say that her grandson might be very thankful for the card and that we also have little gift boxes, free of charge, for the cards to go in. Mattering on how old this kid is I doubt we will ever see him but the sooner I can get her out of here the sooner I can breathe. I swear what is with old people and piling on the perfume or cologne. Is there such a thing as 'old person' smell and they are trying to cover it up or are their noses shot so they can not really tell the difference? Plus every grandchild is told the rules that when Grandma or Grandpa get you something, no matter how bad it is, you smile, say thank you and then discreetly get rid of it. He should just be thankful I did not give her the idea to take the money and then buy something from here with it. Easier to play off that you used a card to a store that you never would be caught dead in then trying to get rid of a shirt that grandma wants to see you where. She gives a wide grin, like I solved the most critical problem in her life, and states that that will be wonderful.

"You are such a nice girl. There should be more girls like you around." She says this after she exuberantly thanks me for the card and free box. If only she knew what I said to my mom not four hours ago and my own personal commentary about her. I watch her shuffle out the door with a little hunch in her shoulders. I scoop up all the clothes that she exchanged and take it to the back table to check out the tags and separate them so they can be washed.

When I first got the job at sixteen I was surprised to find that Joe had invested in four good size washers and driers. He said that through experience it is always good to wash the clothes before putting them out on the floor to be sold. Stating that one can never be too careful. As I toss the clothes into distinct piles (cold, whites, and jeans) I hear shuffling in the office behind me. Joe helps me get everything ready for when the store opens but once I flip the sign over on the window, to the right of the door, he went straight to the office to take care of paperwork. It is the routine between Joe and me whenever I work the morning shift.

This left me to manage the floor by myself. It is not so bad for a weekday since most of our business is done after school lets out, after people get off work, and on the weekends. Teenagers really are Joe's biggest money makers because they come here for extra cash and will usually convince themselves to part with there more stylish clothes if they are extremely desperate. Than they usually end up spending the money here before they even make it out of the door by spotting something that they just 'have to have or they will die'.

I am just about finishing up sorting and getting ready to start a load when I hear the bell ring from the front door signaling that a customer just came in. I can not see who is there but I yell out that I will be just a minute as I put half of the clothes, in the cold water pile, in the washer along with the right amount detergent. Joe doesn't use fabric softener because apparently there are people that are allergic to certain types. Another nugget of wisdom that he learned through experience. After setting the timer on the washer I turn to make my way to the front of the shop plastering on a smile.

"Welcome to….Windfall," I say reluctantly once I finally catch a look of who is checking out the jeans. I could spot her anywhere. The small frame, always shorter and skinnier than me. The long ebony locks that today are in a braid down her back. As she turns I concentrate on her hand, the one that holds a ring with a small diamond. The ring at one point I thought was meant for me. I raise my eyes to her face and see the noticeable scars that everyone associates with her but not me. I knew her before the bear attack. Emily. Fuck, it is official God hates me.

"Leah, I didn't know that you work today." Lie. Even after shunning her for the past year and a half I can still tell when she is fibbing. Her eyes usually will look to the right side of your face to avoid making eye contact. It is so easy to spot that I wonder if anyone else has noticed when she tries to sidestep the truth. I wonder if Sam has caught on yet.

"Yeah, I work today." This is awkward as hell. "Do you need help with anything?" She shakes her head and I tell that if she needs anything to just find me. As I walk to a rack to make sure that everything is in order I can feel her eyes on me. I hear footsteps, coming towards me, and spot out of the corner of my eye hands rifling through the shirts. The screeching of the metal hangers is the only sound in the shop before she starts to speak.

"How are you doing? Wait. Stupid question considering the circumstances." Circumstances? Who calls a father's funeral circumstances? Oh wait. Emily apparently does. I figure since she answered her own question that she does not really want an answer from me. So I stay silent. The hangers are still moving under duress to Emily's hands but even though she is looking at the clothes she is not actually seeing them. I get the feeling that she is using this whole thing as a front. Perusing the rack that I am at; even stepping one foot in this place. She came to talk to me and I am waiting to find out why. It's a good thing Emily does not have much tact for these things. I personally don't think I can handle being patient with her since 'uncertain grandma' kind of sucked it all out of me. So she better get to the point or I might just do something stupid and smack her.

"So how is work?" Work, really? Out of all the things that she chooses to talk about she picks my job. I wonder if I can go to jail for assaulting a scarred woman.

"Fine," I gruffly say. Just get to the point already. Somebody save me! I can not handle her. Not today. My salvation comes in the form of a phone ringing. I turn to tell Emily that I have to answer that when Joe yells that he's got it. Damn you, Joe! I look to the front door and see an older couple possibly in their thirties looking through the window debating whether or not to come in. I am blatantly staring at them hoping they can see the desperation in my eyes. On second thought they might think that I am being held up by gun point so I put a friendly smile on my face. Hoping it will entice them to open the door. The smile is gone and my head whips away from the couple at the window to the girl beside me when she finally decides to open her mouth.

"How is Aunt Sue?" Her head is down while her hands are still moving. I am thinking that we have finally hit the reason as to why Emily decided to grace me with her presence. With that in my mind I lie.

"She is doing fine. Considering." She looks at me incredulously before she schools her features again but I already caught it. The sinking feeling in my stomach is undeniable.

"Really?," Sam's 'one and only' squeaks out. She told. Mom told someone about our fight this morning. Not just someone, she told _Emily_, which means that Sam probably knows too. I wonder who else she told knowing that it takes only one person to start a rumor. La Push is not that big and if gossip travels as fast as it has in the past then it will be in no time at all that I will have to dodge glares. Knowing from experience that the truth seems to get twisted and it is usually not in my favor.

I set a steely look on the girl, who has finally stopped trying to keep up pretenses with the rack, when I reply, "Really."

She opens her mouth to reply but Joe steps out from his office to tell me that if I can make a pick up. He hands me the address saying that between some of the kids being sick and tight work schedules that they just don't have time to drop the clothes off. As I look at the address he says that it is a donation and that they do not expect any type of compensation in return.

"Dr. Cullen is quite a generous man, Leah." I am about to reply but the stiffening of Emily's body and the sudden run to the door stops me. As I watch the door swing shut behind her along with tell tale jingle of the bell all I can think is 'finally she's gone!'

Joe expressing befuddlement asks, "What is up with her?" I shrug my shoulders. I know why she left. It is because that her along with a good number of people hate the Cullens believing in old Indian folk lore but Joe does not need to hear about that. So instead I ask him if he will be okay for a little while. He laughs and assures me that he can handle his own shop and tells me to take my time.

"No rush. I don't want to have to visit you in the hospital because you got in an accident. Alright?" He smiles to show that he is joking.

"Sure. I'll be careful." I wave as I walk out the door heading to my car, keys in hand. I have never been out to the Cullen's but I hear that they are loaded. I guess I will find out when I get there as I pull out of the parking lot. The car is hot and my air conditioner shot so I roll down the window hoping the breeze will help keep me cool. One of the downsides of sunny, warm days in Forks, Washington is that you are not used to the heat.


End file.
